


I Found A Monster (May I Keep Him?)

by Bennyhatter



Series: My Monster [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Animalistic, Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Dystopia, Feral Behavior, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Grooming, Hand Feeding, Human Experimentation, M/M, Mutation, Pack Dynamics, Past Torture, Submissive Character, Trust Issues, Violence, Virus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2020-10-17 09:41:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20618933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter
Summary: Elijah doesn't have much hope when he tries the front door, so when it swings open easily at his shove, he stumbles across the threshold with a surprised gasp. The hallway is dim, but not horribly so. There's enough natural light spilling through the windows and open doors that line the hall for him to see just how little damage has been done. There's some graffiti on the walls, some desks and chairs knocked over in a few of the rooms he walks past, but overall the building looks as untouched inside as it was outside. That does nothing to ease his nerves; if anything, it makes his anxiety worse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was honestly going to wait until this was completely finished before I started posting, but it's already almost 10k and I have no idea how long it's going to end up being, so... Might as well, right?
> 
> For those of you who might be used to this series, enjoy. To the newcomers -- welcome!
> 
> To all of you: Please, please mind the tags. This is not a soft story full of happiness. There will be no buttercups here. This is my dabbling in the worst of what humanity has to offer, with a side of human experimenration and possible past torture.
> 
> I love my original characters; I especially have a weakness for monsters. I love them far more than I should, and possibly more than is healthy. That being said, if you choose to join me in this world...
> 
> Welcome, and enjoy.

The buildings look completely untouched from the outside, though the slow crawl of ivy up the brick sides is clear evidence that no one's been around to take care of the grounds. The lawn is in even worse shape -- the grass is so high it tickles his knees as he walks across the courtyard. Each breath catches the scent of bluebells and hyacinths, their colors easy enough to spot amongst the lush green. Elijah waits until he's in the shadow of the closest building to stop, crouching and resting a hand against the wall for balance as he looks around. He can't hear anything but the birds. Above him, he catches sight of a few vultures making lazy loops around the area. They don't seem to be honing in on anything, but that doesn't mean much if there's no open windows.

Considering the state of every other place he's found, both residential and commercial, Elijah is surprised that he hadn't seen one broken window or door in his initial survey. There are signs that people left in a hurry, if you know how to spot them amongst the general chaos of looters, but there's not enough to suggest this place has been raided multiple times. For a genetic research and sciences facility, especially one so close to a city like Washington D.C., he expected… more.

Standing slowly, he checks his surroundings again with a wariness that borders on paranoia. The last thing he needs is to get jumped while he's searching for medicine. He doesn't like how close to pristine everything still is -- as if everyone has given the campus a wide berth after the initial scavenging. With things like medicine and clean water so high on the list of necessities, it's a wonder this place hasn't been torn apart. The fence hasn't even been disturbed, from what he could tell as he'd climbed the admittance gate.

Following the wall, he creeps toward the front of the building that had been marked as Genetics and Medicine. He's not looking for anything overly potent; any illness or injury severe enough to warrant those kinds of heavy-duty drugs is as good as a death sentence these days. Elijah is more interested in the smaller stuff; he's running low on pretty much everything, including food. Finding this place had been a pleasant shock, but the longer he stands in the shadows of the squat, two-story genetics building, the more his unease grows.

_ Just a quick in and out, _ he promises himself. If he can't find anything here, he'll raid the next store he happens across. The only potential problem with that plan is how heavily that store may have already been gone over, and how late he is to the proverbial party.

Elijah doesn't have much hope when he tries the front door, so when it swings open easily at his shove, he stumbles across the threshold with a surprised gasp. The hallway is dim, but not horribly so. There's enough natural light spilling through the windows and open doors that line the hall for him to see just how little damage has been done. There's some graffiti on the walls, some desks and chairs knocked over in a few of the rooms he walks past, but overall the building looks as untouched inside as it was outside. That does nothing to ease his nerves; if anything, it makes his anxiety worse.

Stopping outside of a room at the end of the hallway, he reads the name on the plaque -- _ Dr. Anthony Skale. _ Beneath that, in smaller font, he sees _ Chief of Medical Research_. The door is open, a few papers scattered across the desk. Like the rest of the hallway, nothing looks overly disturbed. Elijah has seen homes and offices torn apart by raiders looking for _ anything_, even something as seemingly random as pencils. Aside from the papers on doctor Skale's desk, _ nothing has been touched. _

He's not going to find any medicine or first-aid supplies in here, he knows that. He's curious though, picking up the first paper he touches and reading the text. Most of it is the kind of shorthand, medical jargon that goes right over his head. A few words jump out at him, but nothing he can make sense of when he doesn't understand the rest. Elijah drops it back on the desk and leaves, moving quickly in search of what he actually came here to find. There's a few more doors boasting names and titles, but it's the plaque beside the door to the stairwell that gives him pause.

_ Authorized Personnel Only _

For a _ stairwell? _ Frowning, Elijah tries the door and hesitates when it's unlocked. That doesn't seem very safety-conscious, if they're trying to keep people out. Then again, it's entirely possible that the locking mechanism was disengaged when the power cut out. No one seemed to think about those kinds of failsafes in the event that society would crumble.

It's almost funny, in retrospect, just how much people relied on electricity to keep them safe. Once that was gone, it's no wonder everything else spiralled out of control so quickly.

As soon as he's through the door, Elijah gags. Clamping his hand over his nose and mouth, he narrows his watering eyes and swallows down the immediate surge of bile that churns in response to the stench of rotting flesh.

Halfway down the stairs -- they only go down, not up -- is what's left of a woman. He thinks it was a woman, at least. She looks like she was wearing a skirt and a blouse beneath her coat, but everything is torn and covered in what looks like old blood and -- Elijah closes his eyes and shudders -- things that definitely do not belong outside of a person.

After months of stumbling across the aftermaths of humanity's depravity, he should be used to the smell. Without any kind of law, no repercussions the further things fell apart, most of the population went on sprees of violence and rioting. Elijah has found more remains than he has living people, but the smell…

He can't get past the smell; the thought that he ever might brings its own fears. As horrible as things have become, Elijah doesn't ever want to lose who he is to numb apathy and acceptance over such brutalities.

He holds his breath as he edges around the body, trying his best not to look and see just how horrific her death was. It's been some time since she died, considering the scent and the general state of decomposition. Elijah sends up a silent prayer to wherever she may have gone, hoping that it was swift and that she's at peace now. He practically runs the rest of the way down the stairs until he reaches another door. This one has a metal sign instead of a plaque.

_ Authorized Personnel Only _

_ Proceed With Extreme Caution _

This door swings open just as easily as the last one had, bringing another wave of the scent of rotten meat and something else, something that smells _ worse_. Elijah's knees buckle, hitting the dark concrete floor with a painful thud. His chest heaves, his stomach cramps, and he can't hold back the bile this time. He hasn't eaten more than a few granola bars since lunch yesterday, thankfully, so all he gags up is a bit of foam and sour saliva. It's not a pleasant taste, but compared to the stench of death that surrounds him, it's far more palatable.

He counts at least four more bodies, all of them strewn across the room as if they'd been thrown. He can't distinguish between genders -- he can't even tell where one gory scene ends and the next begins. There's blood and bits of organ, strips of flesh and bloodied cloth, all of it smeared across the floor. One of the bodies had been torn open, the intestines spilling free in coiling loops that have long since dried out. It's a horrific scene, something he'd expect to see from a pack of rabid dogs more than he would a human.

Is a human actually capable of this level of savagery?

There's more rooms branching off of the common area, but these doors aren't wooden. They're solid metal, each one at least four inches thick. Elijah can make out claw marks on the one closest to him; deep gouges where the handle should be on the inside, the edges dark with what he can only assume is blood. There's a lot less natural lighting down here -- barely a few beams shining through narrow, barred windows set high up on the walls -- but nothing about what he's seen so far is making him want to grab his flashlight.

Nothing will make _ that _ easier to look at; he'd prefer the shadows so he can at least pretend it's not as bad as it is. Elijah steps carefully, avoiding as much of the carnage as he can while making his way toward a desk lined with dead monitors. There's more notes scattered across the surface, the words blurring together in the darkness.

There's a door off to his left, a normal one, but he can't make out the letters. He thinks it starts with an _ M, _so he heads toward it in the hopes that it has what he needs. All he needs is to find where they keep the medicine and fill his bag so he can get the hell out of this place.

A snarl cuts through the silence, making Elijah trip over his own feet from fear and surprise. He freezes, eyes wide and straining to see; ears desperately trying to pinpoint where the sound is coming from. After a moment where he swears his heart has stopped, he breathes out shakily and takes another step closer to the door.

The answering growl has him scrambling to grab his flashlight, mangled bodies be damned. It's both a relief and another source of discomfort when the full spectrum of what's happened in the basement is highlighted by the pale yellow beam. He can see the blood splattered up the walls now, giant arcs of life painted over pale grey concrete; the pools dried across the floor dotted with shriveled pieces of meat and tissue. The sunken, decayed eye sockets that feel like they're staring into his core. Elijah shivers, whimpering quietly, and swings around when he realizes that the growl is coming from behind him.

Against the far wall is a cage, not unlike one used to hold predators in a zoo. It's tall enough for a full grown man to stand upright with room to spare, and long enough to pace back and forth along the wall. He can see IV lines hanging from medical poles, the bags they're attached to long since emptied and dried up. They look almost comically small next to the thicker steel bars.

There's a body outside of the cage, and even from so far away Elijah can see how much of it is missing. Nearly an entire half of it -- _ him _ \-- has been torn away on the side pressed against the bars. Even the bones have been chewed on.

Pressing his free hand against his mouth, Elijah tries to breathe through the newest wave of nausea. He's so focused on the corpse that he doesn't realize he's being stared at until something moves in the murky shadows that his flashlight doesn't reach. It throws itself at the front of the cage before he can see what it is, snarling like a rabid beast. Elijah screams and scrambles backwards, falling over something he's trying desperately not to think about. The flashlight goes flying toward the desk, throwing light in disorienting strobe-like sweeps as it spins.

His head cracks against the floor, pain radiating through his skull until he feels it in his _ teeth. _ Elijah moans, tasting blood on his tongue; he coughs, wet and pained, and reaches for his flashlight. Sound filters in slowly through the roar of blood in his ears -- a savage growling that seems endless and too loud. Realizing that his light isn't within easy reach, he forces himself to get up and _ move_; crawling over limbs and torsos and frantically chanting _ don't think about it don't think about it_, because if he does then he's going to curl into a ball under the desk and hyperventilate himself into unconsciousness.

Elijah grabs his flashlight with trembling fingers as soon as he's close enough, spinning around and leveling it at the cage to see exactly what the fuck they'd been keeping locked in the basement of the _ Genetics and Medicine _ building.

A man stares back at him, but he's not a man in any normal sense of the word. _ Men _ don't have a mouth full of fangs, with canines so long they touch their bottom lip. The dark brown eyes are wild, and shot through with red that bleeds out into the sclera. Elijah thinks that his hair might be blonde, but its matted down under too much dirt and old blood to tell. He's still snarling, digging dark claws into the steel bars of his prison and shoving himself against them, snapping his jaws and drooling a mixture of blood and saliva. Even with several feet between them, Elijah can see how emaciated he is. It's a miracle he hasn't died yet -- who knows how long he's been trapped down here -- but he looks like he won't live for much longer. He can't, not without a steady source of food.

With a sickening jolt, Elijah realizes that he must have been the one eating the body outside of the cage. “Oh god,” he wheezes, rolling over and gagging against a clean sliver of floor. There's nothing left in his stomach to lose, but that doesn't stop his body from trying. He heaves and coughs, tears wet on his cheeks, and he's making so much noise on his own that it takes him a few minutes to realize that the trapped man has fallen silent.

Slowly, still feeling shaky and sick, he looks up to meet the burning eyes that are locked on him. Those fangs are bared, gleaming in the artificial glow of his flashlight. Elijah can see the unsteady rise and fall of his shoulders, can hear the rasping hiss of his breaths. He sounds sick -- he looks like he's _ dying _ \-- but there's still enough strength in him that the bars of his prison creak and groan when he yanks at them.

“H-hello,” Elijah says, his voice cracking from fear. The man growls at the sound but doesn't move. “Are… are you… alright?” He knows it's a stupid question, but it's the best he can come up with. The man is clearly _ not _ alright; he seems to be the opposite of alright. He's still staring at Elijah, following him with his eyes when he stands up slowly. He's growling low in his throat, almost too quietly to hear-- a sound that gets louder when Elijah edges closer.

“Are… are you hungry?”

_ That _ gets his attention, those sharp eyes narrowing; pupils dilating before shrinking to pinpricks in the light. He snaps his teeth, licks at a canine, and Elijah trembles. He can't tell if he's more terrified or concerned. Part of him is screaming, that piece of humanity he's never quite managed to shake since everything went to hell. He knows that what he's looking at is _ not natural_. People don't look like _ this_. Even the infected, before they succumbed to the virus that killed off millions in a matter of months, never looked so startlingly inhuman.

Another part of him, smaller but no less insistent than the first, reminds him that human beings once proved time and time again that nothing was sacred in their quest for knowledge. If someone could think of it, dozens wanted to study it. If someone found a rare creature, a handful wanted to dissect it to see what made it so unique.

Elijah remembers the way the world was, but _ this_? How did science go from cloning sheep to this? Or is this just a different strain of the infection? A mutation brought about by human resilience with exposure over time, maybe?

The words he'd read in Doctor Skale's notes suddenly make a little more sense in a horrifying way; _ subjects _ and _ injection _ and _ varying adaptations to the control strain _ all cobbling together to form a picture that makes him feel sick for an entirely different reason.

“What did they _ do _ to you?” he whispers. Those eyes watch him, laser-focused and _ wrong_. The man hasn't spoken a single word, hasn't made any attempt to do so. Elijah wonders if he even can. One of the symptoms of infection was a person losing their ability to talk. He remembers news reporters speculating over the reasons behind that before televisions went dark; remembers with vivid clarity a video of a snarling man being pinned to the ground by police officers in a small park in some forgotten town, blood leaking from his eyes and his mouth as he snapped and clawed at their armored torsos and face masks.

“Are you thirsty?”

Elijah watches him dig his claws into the bars before letting go to pace. Those eyes never leave him, like a hungry lion staring down something he plans to hunt. To destroy. When Elijah reaches for his bag, the man snarls and lunges at the bars. They've held so far, but instinct has him scrambling back and bringing up his hands in a useless attempt to defend himself. “It's okay,” he promises, trying to keep his voice as soothing as possible. “It's okay, I promise. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just gonna grab a water bottle, okay?”

_ What is he doing? Why is he still here? _

This time, the man growls but doesn't move, watching his hand with narrowed eyes and twitching lips. When Elijah shows him the water bottle, something in him seems to shift. His chin comes up, his hyperawareness shifting to focus on the bottle instead of Elijah's face. That's got to mean something.

It would be suicide to get close enough to the cage to be grabbed. Elijah would be able to recognize that even without the remains slowly decomposing right in front of the man; the remains he'd clearly been _ eating_, Jesus fucking hell. He has to find a clear spot on the floor to roll the bottle over, and as soon as it's within reach, the man snatches it. His claws tear through the flimsy plastic with ease, water running freely from the punctures, but he doesn't seem concerned. He licks it off his own filthy arm and sucks at one of the holes, the sound loud in the silent room. Elijah watches with fascination, seeing the jagged blend between still-human and feral beast. He clearly remembers some things from before he was infected, but everything else is gone.

How horrible must it be, to be trapped in a mind that remembers nothing? To forget _ everything _ about who you were? The virus mimics rabies, but no one was ever infected by being bitten -- Elijah still remembers when they first made that announcement. The ensuing panic when people heard the word _ rabies _ and nothing else. Up until then, they'd all assumed that being bitten or bled on was how the disease was being spread so rapidly. When they realized that that _ wasn't _ the case, that it was in the _ air-- _

Everything fell apart so much faster after that.

"Do… Do you want another one?" he asks, once the bottle is nothing but scraps. Seeing how much of it ended up on the floor hurts in a way he knows is purely psychological. Water is precious, especially so close to major cities. He only has a few bottles left, and he's been rationing them carefully, but Elijah can't just leave a creature to suffer, not even in a situation like this, and the beast watching him has clearly already suffered enough.

He's more careful with the second bottle, biting the cap off and guzzling from the mouth. Some of it still rolls down his chest, cutting tracks through the grime he's covered in, but at least the majority ends up in his stomach. Is that much water going to be good for him, if he's gone so long without any? It brings up the question of just exactly how long he's been trapped down here, and how he's managed to survive for so long.

Most documented cases of the virus that Elijah remembers hearing about could last longer without food and water, but they usually ended up finding ways to kill themselves before starvation got to them. Their own insanity led them to throwing themselves off bridges, out of windows, in front of buses; anything they could find to stop the pain, scientists said. Most of them weren't even aware that they'd done it; the virus wipes any rationality from their mind, shutting down any logical thought processes. In the end, there was nothing human left of them. Like mindless beasts, they charged headfirst into their own destruction, feral and desperate to make the pain stop.

That's what people said, anyway.

Reaching slowly into his bag again, Elijah digs for the packs of jerky he'd managed to find at the last store he'd raided. He's been saving these too, desperate to make them last just in case he couldn't find anything else for a while, but he has to at least _ offer. _

"It's dried meat," he explains, deliberately refusing to let his eyes leave the beast watching him. He twitches when Elijah tears open the bag, snarling at the sound, and as soon as the scent reaches his flaring nostrils he's straining at the bars. His nails are claws, dark and jagged, a few torn no-doubt from his attempts at escape. His hand is big, hinting at what he might look like if he weren't so starved; if he were healthy and whole and not _ this. _ Biting his lip, Elijah flinches at the sting, forgetting the fresh wound in the face of everything else. His blood is sharp and metallic on his tongue when he licks at the abrasion on the inside of his lip. The man across from him goes still and sharp, every taut inch of him a predator that's scented its prey's weakness. His eyes fixate on Elijah's split lip, his tongue licking across his fangs. When he growls, it's low and savage and terrifying.

Cold fear sweeps down his spine and chills him until he shivers. Elijah hesitates, looking toward the exit and thinking about how quick and easy it would be to run, medicine be damned. He can raid every store from here to San Francisco if he wants. Surely he'll find _ something _ somewhere, just in case injury or illness creeps up on him or comes barreling out of nowhere. Cuts and scrapes aren't an automatic death sentence, but if he runs afoul of other survivors, or worse yet, one of the infected, he's going to need bandages and medicine.

Even as he thinks it, he knows he can't afford to just pass up this opportunity. This research facility was practically a gift wrapped find. Some people would know the value of the drugs tucked away within the walls, but it's clear that not many have tried to scavenge for the wealth just waiting to be uncovered.

_ Or maybe they have, _ he thinks, looking at the bodies around him. Some are wearing lab coats, but one or two are dressed in street clothes. Were they survivors too? If they were, what killed them? Was it another creature like the one growling quietly in his cage? _ Something _ had torn apart the woman on the stairwell; no human could do that.

"What the hell happened here?" he whispers, clenching the bag of jerky he's almost forgotten he's still holding. The crinkle of the plastic startles him and makes the infected man snarl louder, clawed fingers crooking and straining to reach. Elijah can see the way his nostrils are flaring, can hear his raspy, snuffling breaths, and can't help but think of an abused dog left to starve by cruel owners. His heart lurches painfully in his chest, his stomach twisting, and he tosses the entire bag toward the trapped creature before he's fully thought it through.

"I'm going to figure out what the fuck is going on here," he says firmly, like the man can understand him. He's not even paying attention to Elijah anymore, more focused on tearing the bag apart to get to the chunks of dried jerky. Those few precious strips of dried, flavored meat could have lasted him for a few days, but somehow, Elijah doesn't feel remorse at the loss of them.

"Don't go anywhere," he warns, as if the man even _ could. _ "I'm going to go see what the hell Skale was talking about in his notes. Maybe I'll find the cafeteria too. There's gotta be a ton of food there." More than enough to feed an infected, starving creature and a normal, starving man, if he's lucky.

The mention of Skale gets a growl, but nothing else, the man still focused on tearing and gnawing at the tough jerky. Saliva drips down his chin, his fangs probably making it hard for him to keep his mouth closed completely. Elijah stares for another moment, horrified and fascinated, before he forces himself to walk away.

If there really is medicine down here, he doubts it's going anywhere any time soon. With that thought in mind, Elijah covers his mouth and nose, taking a deep breath and holding it before he braves the stairwell and heads back up to the ground floor.

\---

It's well past dark by the time Elijah gives his sore, straining eyes a break. Groaning, he leans back in Skale's chair and tries to rub the ache away. His flashlight is pointed away from the files he's managed to dig up, the bright light doing little to help the headache growing behind his eyes. His stomach is a nauseous rock sitting heavily in his abdomen, hunger and horror twisting into something that makes him want to throw up the water he's spent all afternoon slowly sipping.

Skale and his associates were fucking monsters. That's what he's figured out. The manilla folders he broke into the file cabinet to find, the ones strewn across the -- hopefully -- dead man's desk, are all patient files. Every single one of them. Elijah only pulled six out of the bottom drawer to start with; the entire thing is full of files, all of them neatly organized and meticulously kept. There's got to be over fifty folders just in the bottom drawer alone.

Nausea creeps up his throat, sour and tinged with disgust, as Elijah picks up the closest sheet and scans over it again. Even without direct light to read the small, neat handwriting, he knows the gist of what it says.

Scientists figured out how to administer the virus via vaccination. They _ experimented _ on people -- typically prisoners on Death Row, according to the notes. People society had forsaken. Men and women no one would miss, or care about. They injected the virus directly into their bloodstream and watched how it affected them, how it changed and mutated their bodies and minds. They took detailed notes. Four of the six files have been marked _ failures _, because the subjects died hours after infection. The other two lived for longer before dying. According to the paper being creased in his clenched fist, Subject 8652, a woman who had once been named Amanda Shrive, killed four scientists before being 'ethically and humanely euthanized.' According to Skale's notes, her major organs had already begun to shut down; she was a failure anyway. She was just a little more interesting than some of the others -- a woman serving two consecutive life sentences for murdering her family; husband, a four year old daughter, and her four month old twin boys.

Elijah is conflicted; she was a horrible example of a human being, but did she deserve _ this? _

Abandoning the files strewn over Skale's desk, he goes back to the file cabinet, quickly picking the lock for the top drawer and staring at the countless folders tucked neatly inside. They're all marked with different colored post-it labels; mostly red and yellow, and a few green. Amanda's had had a yellow and a red label stuck to it. The ones on the desk were all marked red as well, aside from the other file -- that one had been red and yellow too.

Curious despite his nauseous disgust, Elijah pulls one of the green-marked files and takes it back to the desk, picking up his flashlight to get a better look at it. He takes another distracted sip of water as he flips open the file; it's thicker than the others.

This one has photographs. Thick, glossy pictures of the convict-made-subject, a young-looking man with tattoos and lips twisted into a challenging snarl. Elijah sees his name printed at the top corner -- Brandon Cook -- and the date, as well as the time the picture was taken. There's detailed notes of his conviction; Elijah skips past those. The pictures follow a timeline; day of arrival, seven days after, and the first day of injection. After that they're hourly. Elijah vaguely recognizes the door of the room he's kept in as one of the thick steel doors in the basement. The room isn't very large, and it's completely bare aside from a toilet, a sink, and a mattress on the floor.

According to the photos, it takes three hours for the infection to set in. Amanda's records said it took six hours for her, and there hadn't been photographs. Elijah flips through them like they're a storybook, horrified fascination twisting its way in amongst the other emotions churning through his stomach. By the end of it, Brandon is unrecognizable despite his tattoos, his features twisted and his jaw distended awkwardly by the bloody fangs that forced his blunt, human teeth to fall out onto the floor. He's torn his clothing to pieces, cutting himself up in the process; Elijah stares at the last photo, where Brandon has slammed himself against his door, fingers buried in the steel door where the handle should be. His claws cut through it so _ easily. _ His face is twisted in feral rage, blood leaking out of his blue-and-red eyes.

The rest of the file is all notes; how the infection progressed, and what they attempted to treat the symptoms with. How Cook's -- Subject 9471, according to his chart -- diet changed.

There's nothing about how he died.

Curious despite himself, Elijah grabs the other seven green-marked folders and brings them back to the desk. He sorts through them frantically, flipping through the photos and reading the remarks left by the scientists and doctors. Men and women alike, all murderers, all of them sentenced to death, or sentenced to a box in solitary confinement until they died. Every single one of them injected and photographed as their bodies mutated and they became monsters. Lists of vaccinations that were given. Antibiotics and antivenoms and anything else the testers could think of, all the way down to over-the-counter cold medicines. None of them died. None of them _ died. _ Skale and his people kept them in rooms like rabid beasts, feeding them anything from kale to hamburger to _ other prison inmates _ and recording every single bit of it.

Elijah hunches over the side of the desk and throws up his water, coughing and gagging as it splatters across the beige tile floor. His hand lands on another photograph when he tries to steady himself; he almost doesn't recognize the brown eyes staring back at him when he finally sits back up and looks at it.

_ Kour Lucifé. _

It's a file he hasn't read yet. His hands shake as he picks up the photograph and stares at it with burning eyes. The man has a strong jaw and a cold, calculating stare. He's not sneering or screaming or gesturing in the photo; he's standing calmly, his chin tilted up just slightly and his mouth a flat, unimpressed line. His shoulders and chest are broad; he's short, only five-six, and he looks stocky. He looks nothing like the emaciated thing caged behind thick steel bars in the basement.

Kour was serving out three consecutive life sentences. He tortured and murdered his father, his older brother, and _ forty-seven people _ before he was caught. Elijah vaguely remembers hearing the horrific tales on the news when he was much younger about a manhunt for a psychopath, one that the cops could never find enough evidence to catch. The file paints the picture of a man with no physical preference linking his victims to one another. He was only caught because he walked into a tiny police station in rural Ohio and announced that he was _ bored. _

The man in the first photo doesn't look bored; he looks like he's waiting for something. Hands shaking, Elijah flips through the rest of the pictures. Kour's hair is blonde in the first several photos, but after he's injected -- looking _ interested _ at where the needle slides into his skin while he's strapped down and muzzled like a rabid beast -- it changes. Not at first, not for a while.

It took thirty-six hours for Lucifé to succumb to the virus, according to Skale's notes. Before him, the longest wait was a woman named Sharon Paige, who lasted for thirteen hours before infection set in. Elijah follows the progression of his mutation, watching his hair turn white and his fangs force his jaw to shift as his human teeth break and fall out. Cook's canines were longer, but Kour's are thicker. Even in the photos, Elijah can see how much he moves like a predator; head up, eyes focused, muscles bulging and coiling with every step.

So how did he go from a room to an open, barred cage? Elijah flips through page after page until the last one catches his eye.

_ 25-6-2017 _

_ Subject eviscerated five medical professionals and three interns. Only way to observe up close is sedation, and we cannot gather needed information that way. Dr. Robins suggests a cage for ease of examination, and I am inclined to agree. MRI shows damage to the Brocha's area from infection, resulting in loss of speech, and the mutation of the hypothalamus. Subject remains relatively calm until testing. Upon sight, aggression and violent reactions are triggered. Further tests are a necessity. We cannot lose such valuable data. _

Below that is another entry.

_ 4-7-2017 _

_ Subject adapting well to the cage. With constant exposure to staff, we have gathered that physical sight triggers a response. Sense of sight and smell are significantly heightened. Heartbeat is accelerated, as is metabolism. Subject has no memories pre-infection, but recognized Dr. Robins as the one who injected him. He recognizes Dr. Chambers as the one who feeds him. He is moderately less violent towards her. _

_ Further testing required. _

It's that last part that really gets Elijah's attention. If Kour is calmer around those who feed him, does that mean it will be the same if he brings the man food? He's already fed him and given him water. Was he calmer afterwards?

There's really only one way to find out, even if the thought of returning to the basement fills him with dread and terror. What if it doesn't work? What if Kour somehow finds a way out after all this time, and Elijah becomes just another victim?

He hasn't gotten out of the cage yet though, even after all this time. If he was mutated almost two years ago, and he's still trapped, then that has to mean something, right?

Jesus, almost _ two years. _ Almost two years that he's been in that cage. That was only a few months before the first reports of infection started spreading. He was infected _ before _ the virus spread, what the _ fuck? _

How long ago did everything go to hell in this place? How has he _ survived? _

Elijah eyes the files but ultimately leaves them on the desk, grabbing his flashlight and shutting the door behind him. He walks quickly down the hallway, searching for any kind of signs on the walls. When he finds a map proclaiming that the cafeteria is on the second floor, along with patient rooms 101 through 116 -- fuck, there were _ more? _Were they experiments too? -- he makes a beeline for the closest staircase.

No matter what Kour did before Skale got him, no one deserves to starve to death like an animal in a cage.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeyyyyy. Not quite as long of a chapter, but it seemed like a pretty good place to leave it!
> 
> Thank you so, so much to everyone who has left kudos and comments on this so far! You folks have no idea how much it means to me. I love my boys so much, and just the thought that someone else likes them too, and enjoys my original works -- it makes me all teary and flaily.
> 
> Thank you all so much! I hope you enjoy what's coming up!!

It's been so long since his bag has been full that Elijah almost stumbles when he slings it over his shoulders. Cans bulge out the fabric, digging into his back, and he's never been so happy to be uncomfortable. Between the vegetables, the beans, and the canned meats, he could almost cry he's so happy. They're larger cans too, big enough to feed several people -- or one very hungry young man and -- hopefully -- a starving, mutated man-beast. He's got more packs of dried jerky, and the side pouches are stuffed with candy bars. There's cases of water he hasn't even _ touched _ yet, and more in the small coolers alongside bottles of soda and gatorade. His chest hurts at the sight of them, remembering Before and thinking of all of the people who indulged so easily; how everyone took everything for granted, and how many of them are dead now.

He has no desire to explore the second floor -- the smell is enough to tell him what he needs to know. Filling his arms with water and Gatorade, he takes the stairs two at a time back down to the first floor and retraces his steps back to the basement stairwell.

Seeing the woman's body again is no less horrifying the third time, and he doesn't hesitate to creep past her this time, keeping his eyes carefully averted. Part of him wonders who she was -- Dr. Chambers? Some other poor soul who met Karma in the most violent of ways?

Kour is already growling when Elijah elbows the door open, pressed against the front of his cage and watching. He quiets down quickly, tilting his head and following Elijah's steps across the room with cold, burning eyes.

"I found food," he says unnecessarily; the notes said that Kour's sense of smell was enhanced by the virus. He can probably smell everything that's in Elijah's bag. Saying it out loud makes him feel better though. "And water, and Gatorade," he adds uselessly, dumping his armload into a clean patch of ground and setting his pack down beside the bottles. His shoulders immediately thank him, the relief of having so much extra weight gone making him hiss quietly. Kour snarls in response, pacing back and forth. Elijah can't help but think that he looks better already.

"Are you still hungry?" he asks, pulling out a few more bags of jerky, and two candy bars. Would Kour even like the sweets? There's really only one way to find out. He tosses them one by one, rolling over another bottle of water as well as a Gatorade. Who doesn't need electrolytes after spending months starving?

As he watches, Kour cuts one of the Reese's cup packages open with a claw and sniffs at the chocolate. His tongue flicks out to taste the candy, and Elijah hastily turns toward the room promising the medicine he originally came to find. His cheeks prickle warmly and he berates himself for getting so flustered over something so innocuous. Kour is no better than a feral thing. He doesn't even know how to _ talk. _

Does he even remember his name?

Curious, Elijah turns back to see that the creature has ignored the Reese's in favor of the jerky. He's tearing the bags open, his sharp fangs making quick work of the tough strips. There were cans of tuna in the kitchen; would he like those? Elijah isn't fond of seafood, so he'd left them, but if Kour prefers meats, maybe he should bring a few back?

Taking a deep breath, he clears his throat quietly.

"K… Kour?"

The man stiffens, red-brown eyes snapping up to glare from beneath the matted tangle of his white bangs. His teeth are bared around the jerky clenched between them, his lips pulling back until Elijah can see his too-pale gums. When he growls, the sound deep and terrifying, Elijah puts his hands up quickly, offering his empty palms in a bid for peace and calm.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he rushes to say, a different kind of terror freezing his blood in his veins. "I found -- I mean, I was looking for- I saw what they did." His voice drops, going soft and meek. "I read, I mean, I found Skale's files."

This time, the name is enough to make Kour _ roar. _ He slams a palm against the bars of his prison so hard it vibrates, and Elijah chokes on his instinctive noise of fear. His knees shake, his eyes wet and burning.

"I'm so sorry," he rasps. "I'm so sorry. I just wanted to understand. I'm so sorry. They shouldn't have-- no one deserves that. I'm so sorry for what they did to you."

Kour Lucifé was a terrible human being, but this creature doesn't even remember being that man. He doesn't remember _ anything _ about who he was. They took his _ life _ from him, good or bad or otherwise. They killed that monster to make room for _ this, _ and for what? To leave him to starve to death once their _ research _ got out of hand?

Were Skale and his team responsible for what happened to the world?

Kour is quiet, watching him intently. He's tense and _focused,_ his nostrils flaring with each loud, snuffling breath. He grumbles, there's really no other way to describe the noise that comes from his throat, and tosses a half-eaten chunk of jerky to Elijah. It lands at his feet, resting in a long-ago dried smear of blood, right next to something that might be a fingernail.

"Oh god," he whispers miserably, but he picks it up. It's damp from Kour's saliva, the edge uneven and torn from his teeth. Despite the bizarreness of the situation, he recognizes the gesture for what it is.

When television used to be a thing, Elijah preferred nature documentaries over action-packed movies and violent video games. He watched creatures from all over the world interact -- how they hunted, foraged, mated, and how they raised their young. How mates brought each other food, or pack and pride creatures tended to their sick and weak. He remembers watching wolves bring meat back to their pups, sharing without reservation; how lions would let their cubs attack them and exaggerate the pain to give their offspring confidence.

Closing his eyes, Elijah chews at the jerky, determined not to think about where it's just been and what it's touched. It's not that difficult to do; it tastes so good that he moans quietly, his stomach clamoring for something that isn't just water. He tries to savor it, he really does, but it's gone quicker than he means for it to be. With nothing else to do, he cracks open an eye and squints at Kour.

The creature is watching him, his inhuman eyes unblinking and intense. Even in a normal situation, Elijah would feel justified for how intimidated the man makes him. There's a coldness that radiates from him, his rage frigid and -- from the sound of Skale's notes -- deadly. He's never thought of anger and rage as being so cold before. That particular emotion always struck him as hot and explosive, like a volcano erupting, but Kour wears it differently than anyone Elijah has ever met.

"It's late," he says quietly, unsure of what else to do. It's too late to go rooting for medicine tonight; he always keeps extra batteries in his bag, just in case, but he still tries to be careful of how often he uses his flashlight, or how he treats it. It's not that he can't find another one if something happens to his, but his grandfather gave him that flashlight; he doesn't want to do anything that might break it.

Kour watches him, silent and still as a statue.

"I need sleep," Elijah stresses, chewing on the other side of his mouth to avoid the stinging cut from earlier. "You should sleep too. Ah, I'll pile up more food, in case you're hungry, and I'll go find more tomorrow, too. So, uh, goodnight?"

The absolute last thing he wants to do is spread his sleeping bag out over the floor here -- not with all of the dead bits of people strewn around. The rooms where Skale and his people kept the other _ subjects _ are far cleaner; he'll just choose one of those. That way he'll be close enough to keep an eye on the creature pacing his cage restlessly, and he'll hear if anyone stumbles their way down the stairs.

Elijah hesitates for a moment, contemplating the best way to set up the food for Kour without getting close enough to get attacked. In the end, he tosses several bags of jerky within grabbing distance; cranks open a few different cans of vegetables just in case and nudges them closer with the butt of his flashlight. As soon as Kour snatches for them he stumbles back, tripping over his bag with an undignified yelp.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to this, not that I _ should," _ he grumbles at the ceiling, even though Kour is clearly far more invested in his can of green beans than he is in listening. "Huh." Elijah sits up and watches him shovel the beans into his mouth with the same enthusiasm he'd shown the jerky, the creature barely more than a beast hunkered over in the dark. It's hard to see much, but between the faint moonlight filtering in through the windows, and his own night vision, he can see enough. "So… you like green beans. _ Huh. _ I'll try and remember that."

Kour doesn't pay attention while Elijah drags his backpack into the closest room and rolls out his sleeping bag with the easy efficiency of someone used to setting up camp in the dark. He can still hear the beast wolfling down his food; the crackle of weak plastic when he grabs for one of the water bottles.

It should be impossible to sleep with a monster so close, but Elijah is _ exhausted. _ If the cage has held for this long, it'll hold for a little longer. And if somehow, miraculously, it _ doesn't, _ well.

At least Kour kills his prey quickly, according to the information Skale collected. If Elijah is lucky, he won't even wake up.

It's far from the most pleasant thought to fall asleep to, but it does the job well enough. Elijah is gone before his head even hits his makeshift pillow.

\---

"Jesus, Kour, you'll clear the pantry single-handedly at this rate."

It's hard to deny that the creature looks worlds better than he had yesterday. He's still frighteningly thin, it's going to take a lot longer than a day to fix _ that, _ but his skin isn't as palid, and his eyes are definitely brighter this morning. The rasp in his breathing is gone as well; it makes Elijah curious. In the daylight, with Kour much more willing to stay still for a moment rather than throwing himself at the bars, Elijah can see the scars across his chest. They're thin and straight, almost surgically precise; he tries not to think too hard about why that could be, or why there's so many of them.

There are other scars too, but they look older. There's a knotlike scar just above the waistband of the man's filthy jeans on his left side; a starburst pattern on his right shoulder that Elijah thinks may have been from a bullet. There are circular burn scars dotted up and down his arms, from his biceps down to his hands. There's even scars over his knuckles -- Elijah sees them when Kour curls his fingers around the bars.

All of the food he'd left for the creature last night is gone. The bags are nothing more than tattered scraps, and the cans have been torn apart, the aluminum peeled open and crusted with freshly-dried blood. There's a few smears across Kour's palms, but Elijah can't see any obvious wounds. If anything, it makes him more curious.

"How fast do you heal?" he wonders aloud, using his can opener to crack open a can of overprocessed, preserved ham. As soon as the salty scent of the meat fills the air, Kour growls and yanks at his bars. It's a fearsome sight, enough to send a chill down Elijah's spine, but he can't help but think of the cat his grandfather used to have; how she would meow and yowl and scratch at the back door to be let in, but once she was fed, his grandfather could scoop her up and tuck her against his chest. She had a loud, raspy purr, and the elderly man was only ever allowed to pick her up once she'd finished her food.

The first time Elijah tried to pet her while she was eating, her claws opened up four lines across the back of his hand. He'd been so young then, and scared, and his grandfather had sat him on the counter beside the sink to clean his hand while he'd sniffled and bawled.

_ We must not forget that they're wild animals, Eli, _ his grandfather had cautioned, his crooked, wrinkled hands so careful as he'd smeared antibiotic ointment over the cuts. His cat had finished eating and was rubbing against his calves, purring loudly.

_ I just wanted to pet her, Grampa. _

_ I know, son, but with all wild creatures, it must be on their terms. If you do not know them, you must let them come to you, and if you think they mean to harm you, then you must run away. _

Blinking, Elijah looks up at Kour, the memory fading and leaving only a faint, aching sorrow behind. "You aren't a cat," he tells the man, chuckling roughly to himself. Kour tucks his chin, glaring from beneath the wild mess of his bangs, so Elijah clucks his tongue and nudges the can close enough to be grabbed. He opens a few more -- there's no jerky left, he'll have to go get the rest -- and leaves them in a cluster, stealing a few fingerfuls of canned beef despite it being cold. His own breakfast is canned peaches, the fruit sweet and delicious. He eats them far too fast, probably, drinking the thick syrup and groaning at how good it tastes. His stomach isn't going to thank him soon, but it's worth it to feel even moderately full for the first time in months.

"I shouldn't get used to this," he sighs, rolling the empty can back and forth with his hand. It's still morning, the early golden light filling the room and highlighting the horrors strewn around him. Elijah licks his lips anxiously, the sweet juice suddenly sour on his tongue.

He never wants to get used to _ that. _ Has he, though, if he can eat so calmly with the corpse of a man slowly rotting less than three feet away from him? Has he already deadened himself to the smell, if he can sleep so close to such carnage?

"This can't smell good to you," he mutters, looking at Kour and flinching when he realizes that the man is already staring back at him. Kour is licking juice from his fingers and palms, his brown-red eyes burning through Elijah. "Ah, uh, did you enjoy breakfast?" The creature rumbles, lips twitching. "Right. Yeah. I'm gonna just. Medicine. Oh god, please stop looking at me like that."

He must reek of fear, but Kour doesn't react other than dropping his chin again and staring harder. Elijah decides to count what's left from the cafeteria, dismayed by how much of it is already gone. If Kour continues to eat this much, he really _ will _ clear out the pantry almost single-handedly. Despite that growing concern, Elijah can't bring himself to stop feeding the man.

_ They are wild creatures, little sprout, but they deserve kindness too. _

"Right." Nodding to himself, Elijah stands and rubs his hands against the front of his cargos. "Medicine and food," he reminds himself. And then… what? Does he just _ leave? _ Walk away like nothing ever happened, like he isn't leaving a man to slowly starve to death the way Skale and his coworkers did? What other choice does he have, though? He has no idea how to unlock the cage, and even if he did, the chances are astronomically high that Kour will tear him apart once he's free.

"Scavenge now, think later," he mutters, turning toward the closed door he'd seen the night before. It does, in fact, say _ Medicine, _ and what's more, it's just a normal door. Even if it is locked, it'll be easy to get in. If the researchers used all different sorts of medications to try and counteract the virus, they should all be in that room. He'll more than likely have to find a supply closet on the second floor to stock up on bandages and gauze, but he can do that later, when he goes back to raid the kitchen for more food.

Looking over his shoulder, he grins at Kour. "Wish me luck!"

The creature chuffs and drags another can of green beans into his cage. That's the best he's going to get, so Elijah picks his way across the room, gritting his teeth until his jaw aches as he carefully steps over bodies. One of them, a woman, is sprawled closest to the door he needs. He hadn't noticed the extent of the damage done yesterday; he'd been trying his hardest not to. She's wearing a lab coat, just like a few of the others, but she's also got an employee lanyard around the mangled remains of her neck.

Crouching, Elijah holds his breath and picks up the plastic pocket with trembling fingers. Blood has seeped in and ruined a lot of the picture, but he can still make out part of her name.

-_lissa Chambers _

Was she the one who fed Kour? Did one of the other creatures kill her? They would have had to, considering how badly she's been torn up. If Kour wasn't as volatile toward her, then why were the others?

"I'm sorry you died this way," he whispers, resting her name card back on the ground. Her chest has been ripped open, her ribs broken to get at the organs they protected. Everything is shriveled and decayed, but there are a few telling gaps where he's pretty sure vital organs should be; a lung, the heart, and who knows what else.

"I'm sorry you died, but you shouldn't have done this." Does that make him bad? No one should die like she and her colleagues did, but no one should be turned into a monster for science, either. He's torn between compassion and revulsion, but he still sends up a prayer that she died quickly before he stands and steps around her.

The door is locked, but it's almost laughably easy to pick the lock and get in. He shines his flashlight around the room, startled by how organized and untouched everything looks. Clearly no one thought to raid the basement -- though, thinking of the corpse in the stairwell, maybe the scavengers weren't desperate enough. There's an undisturbed layer of dust covering everything, including the floor, and he can't see any footprints.

Unnerved by the stillness and silence, Elijah sets his backpack on the closest counter and quickly gets to work. Some of the cabinet doors are locked, but it's easy enough to see the bottles lined up neatly on the shelves through the glass. He recognizes a few names, but most of them are heavy-duty narcotics; powerful steroids and antibiotics and things with names he could never hope to pronounce.

Out of all of it, antibiotics and any over-the-counter pain medicines are his best options, so Elijah picks the lock quickly and grabs a few bottles. They're decently full, which means they'll last him a good long while before he has to worry about stocking up again.

Toward the back of the room is another door, but this one is unmarked and it doesn't even have a handle; it's a swinging door. Elijah pushes it open slowly, wincing at the creak, and shines his flashlight into the semi-darkness. There's windows like in the main area, high up on the walls and barred, but this corner of the building must be pretty well shaded; there isn't much light filtering in, but there's enough for him to make out the tall metal lockers lining three of the walls, and the bleached-white tiles of what is more than likely a shower area.

It's a locker room. There's another door at the other end, probably leading to some other room, or possibly a staircase. Elijah ignores that for now, making his way from locker to locker to see if he can find anything useful. Once upon a time, he wouldn't have been able to bring himself to rifle through the belongings of someone who was more than likely dead, but the world has changed that about him, if nothing else.

"Too bad there's no running water," he mutters to himself while fingering a thick pair of sweatpants thoughtfully. They're too big for his narrow hips, even if he pulled the strings as tight as they'll go, but maybe Kour will like them? The pants he's wearing are filthy, and who knows how long he's been stuck in them.

Does he even remember how to dress himself? He must have _ some _ recollection, if he's still going to the bathroom. Elijah grabs them just in case, bundling them up and tucking them beneath his arm as he continues to search. He finds a pair of pants that might fit him, and several shirts that either of them could wear. They'll be huge on _ him, _ but they should fit Kour fine.

In the back of his mind, he hears a voice whisper, _You're_ _ playing dress-up with a murderer. _

Sitting on a bench, Elijah carefully sets down his pile of clothes and pulls his legs up to his chest. Wrapping his arms around them, he hides his face against his knees and takes slow, shaky breaths. "What the fuck am I doing?" he whispers, rocking himself slowly. "Oh god. Oh my god. Oh my _ god." _

He's wheezing, his breaths going high and sharp as the enormity of what he's doing crashes over him. Hugging his legs tighter, he keens pitifully, the soles of his worn-out sneakers scrambling against the slick bench when he rocks back too far and almost falls off.

He's in a basement full of _ bodies. _ He's feeding a monster that was _ eating _ one of them. Was that man alive when Kour started ripping chunks of flesh off of him? Is that what's been keeping him alive all this time; the rotting flesh of a scientist that experimented on him for who-knows-what reason?

Why did Skale _ do this? _ What was the point? What the fuck were he and his people trying to figure out that led to _ this? _

Why is he still _ here? _ He needs the medicine, he knows that; he's found more in those cabinets than he's found in the last three stores he's raided. But as soon as he realized he wasn't alone, he should have _ run away. _ It's what he's always done. It's how he's stayed alive so long. Otherwise he'd have been killed months ago, probably by another survivor -- maybe even by one of the infected.

"I need to leave," he says, speaking to himself and no one. His voice is hoarse and his cheeks are wet; he rubs at them roughly with the hem of his shirt. Grabbing the clothes, he hurries back to his pack, and then back out into the main area.

Kour is sitting at the front corner of his cage, leaning against the bars and watching him with those alien, inhuman eyes. Elijah tosses the sweatpants and two of the shirts toward him, his fingers shaking so badly he keeps fumbling and almost dropping everything.

"I have to go," he squeaks. "I have to- I can't stay here- I'm sorry, I just-"

The monster rumbles, low and deep. He flinches away, whimpering helplessly and shaking his head. "I can't help you," he says, feeling like something in his chest is cracking under the pressure of his mounting panic. "I can't, I can't, this isn't right-"

Kour shifts to a crouch, still staring through him. One broad hand wraps around a bar, dark claws scraping against the steel. The sound startles Elijah and makes him flinch away. There's still cans of food, open and waiting; he's not leaving Kour completely empty-handed.

"You killed people," Elijah whispers, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. "You _ killed _ people, and Skale-"

The name makes Kour snarl, his teeth bared and the tendons in his neck straining. Elijah nods uselessly, hugging his backpack to his chest. "I know, I know, I just-"

What can he say? There isn't anything to say. Nothing that will make sense; nothing Kour will _ understand. _ There's nothing he can do but turn and flee, doing his best not to touch any of the bodies or trip over them as he bolts toward the door and wrenches it open.

It slams shut behind him, cutting off Kour's snarl, and Elijah is two steps up toward freedom when he hears another noise over the sound of his own rasping gasps -- the sound of the door swinging open at the top of the stairwell and an unfamiliar voice.

"Hey, man, did you hear that?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DIDN'T FORGET ABOUT THIS, I SWEAR.
> 
> I'm so sorry it took so long, y'all, but I'm back! This is the last "chapter" for this part, though there will be one more little chunk of an "epilogue". I'm also planning out a few more pieces for this 'verse, including one or two from Kour's POV!
> 
> Thank you again so, so much to everyone who has read, commented, and left kudos on this story. It means so much to me, and I absolutely love seeing people enjoy characters that I've poured so much love and time into. It makes me want to cry.
> 
> Thank you guys so much.
> 
> MIND THE TAGS, AND ENJOY.

The stairwell isn't a straight shot; halfway up is the landing with the woman's body, and then it turns to go the rest of the way to the first floor. It's a small blessing, because it means Elijah can hear the other survivors, but they can't see him. He freezes regardless, trying to keep his breathing as quiet as possible.

"Yo, Molly, check this shit out. Stairs only go down." It's the man he heard first, his voice raspy in the way smokers sometimes get after too many years and countless cartons.

"Yeah, so?" a woman replies; Elijah hears the scrape and squeak of their shoes against the floor.

"Wonder what's down there? Says "authorized only." You think they got meds and shit? Or chemicals?"

"We're here for food, Spence," Molly replies sharply. "Not to sightsee. The sooner we find grub, the quicker we can get the fuck out of here. This place gives me the creeps."

Elijah takes a step back, easing his way off the stairs as quietly as he can. He's so focused on them that he ends up misjudging how close he is the the railing; he hisses in pain when he clips it hard with his elbow, and the clanging sound echoes almost comically loud.

He hears Molly again, her voice sharp and suspicious. "Hey, who's down there?"

No point in being quiet now; Elijah turns and darts back through the door, listening to the quick-loud pounding of two pairs of feet behind him before the door swings shut and cuts off the sound. Kour is surprisingly silent, watching him with burning eyes from the back of his cage. Sunlight doesn't quite reach him there; he's crouched in the murky shadows, tucked away in the corner he hasn't been using as his bathroom.

Before Elijah can decide if hiding or running is the better option, the door swings open behind him and he spins to face Molly and Spence. He must look terrified, his eyes wide and his face a mask of fear; it chills him to the core and makes him flinch away from them when the door slams shut again behind them.

_ "Dude." _ Spence covers his mouth and nose, gagging at the stench of death. The half of Molly's face that isn't covered by a bandana looks pale, like she's about to throw up or pass out.

"Did you do this?" she asks indignantly. Elijah almost laughs at her; he can barely defend himself with a knife.

"I found it like this," he whispers, edging closer to the medicine door. "I… I heard you talking about food. There's plenty in the kitchen. I don't mind sharing."

"Ain't yours exclusively," Spence sneers, recovering quicker than his companion. His accent isn't local; he sounds like he's from Boston, or maybe New York. "Everything is free game these days."

"Be nice, Spence, the kid's clearly terrified." Molly pulls her bandana down; she's wearing lipstick that makes her green eyes seem brighter. When she smiles at him, Elijah tries to give her a timid smile in return, and he's pretty sure he fails. Spence is loud, complaining about the stench and staring at him like he's lost his mind, but there's something about Molly that scares him more. It's in her eyes; the way her warm smile doesn't quite thaw the coldness pinning him in place. It's nowhere close to the frigid, feral violence of Kour, but it's definitely not good.

Kour is still surprisingly silent; Elijah glances over quickly to see what he's doing and can barely make out his body. The only thing he can see is the man's eyes, and they're focused solely on Molly.

"Where you from, kid?" Spence is looking in the room he'd claimed for sleep last night, kicking bits of debris out of his way carelessly. He kicks the legs of one of the bodies and Elijah tries not to visibly wince.

He licks his lips and swallows enough to wet his throat. "Richmond. Came from Pennsylvania originally. You?"

"OCMD. Metuchen before it all went to shit. You seriously been by yourself this whole time?" Spence frowns at him, jerking a thumb toward Molly. "We met in New Castle. Traveling alone is absolute shit. Surprised you ain't dead yet."

Elijah grips the straps of his backpack, trying to shrug without looking like he's just jerking stiffly. "Was with people for a bit," he lies. "We split up around Baltimore. I'm not… big on groups."

"So you ain't just out foraging?" Molly asks curiously. She's got a machete hanging from her hip, attached to a belt looped over baggy shorts. The handle is tucked under the hem of her shirt, but when she rests her hand on her hip, Elijah feels fear raise the hairs on the nape of his neck.

He shakes his head quickly; he wants them to go away. Nothing about this feels good. "The kitchen is up on the second floor. There's signs down the hallway upstairs." He's got a knife, but it's small, and they're both bigger than he is. Spence has moved toward the room closest to the door; Molly is still smiling at him, strands of her dark brown hair sticking to the side of her face where its escaped from its messy braid.

"Yeah? Cool." Spence runs his fingers along the edge of some gouges carved into the wall, frowning at it. "The hell happened here? They testing rabid dogs or somethin'?"

"Or somethin'," Elijah says quietly. Molly's gaze sharpens, carving through his nonexistent bravado. "Take as much as you want from the kitchen, I swear there's plenty there. I didn't take much."

"No?" Spence wanders back, kicking an empty can of green beans. Elijah swears he hears a growl, but neither of them seem to notice. "How long have you been holed up down here?"

Elijah can feel sweat seeping through the back of his shirt, making it stick to his skin. "Few days. Hadn't eaten much before that. Guess I went a little nuts." He tries to laugh, but it comes out weak and cracked.

"Just a little," Molly agrees. Her voice is pleasant, her boots scraping with every step. She nudges one of Kour's Gatorade bottles with her toe. "You forget how to drink out of a bottle in your haste?"

Damn it. "I was really thirsty. Figured, with the world being shit, the last thing I need to worry about is being neat, you know?"

"You're a shitty liar," Spence says, looming over him before Elijah even realizes he's moved. He's at least six feet tall, and probably a hundred pounds heavier than Elijah. His face is twisted into a scowl, his top lip curled back to show a hint of his teeth. He'd be intimidating even if civilization hadn't crumbled to ash. With no laws and no repercussions, he's the kind of dangerous that Elijah has done everything in his power to avoid up to this point.

Look how well that's worked out for him.

"I'm not lying," he insists, but when Spence steps closer he instinctively stumbles back, almost tripping over the half-eaten body and knocking up against the bars of the cage. They're cold against his arms, his backpack squashed uncomfortably between his back and Kour's prison. Something digs into his hip but he can't move, not with Spence so close that he can smell cigarettes on the man's breath.

"Where's your friend, kid?"

_ No, no, no. Please just go away.  _ He pants, pressing his shoulders back; he tries to keep his voice from shaking when he says, "I told you, I'm alone!"

Molly chuckles, quiet and amused as she steps up beside Spence, nudging him to the side with an elbow. "You're  _ maybe _ one-thirty, honey, and no one your size can eat this much in a week, much less a few days. So either you've been feeding a stray green beans and peaches, or you've got a friend scavenging somewhere."

"I'm alone, I swear." He turns his head away when she strokes his cheek, shutting his eyes tightly and trying not to whimper. "There's no one else. Please, just… take what you want from the kitchen. There's more than enough. I won't stop you."

"You're so scared," she murmurs, bodily herding Spence out of the way and standing in front of him while he watches over her shoulder. She cups his face in both her hands, forcing Elijah to look at her and smiling coldly when he does. "You're like a little mouse," she coos, rubbing beneath his eye with a thumb. "Such a scared little thing. Why are you so scared, sweetheart?"

"Please let me go," Elijah whispers. "You can have this place if you want it. I'll leave, I won't come back."

"You're so cute." She giggles, leaning close enough that her nose almost touches his temple. When he feels her tongue lick at the corner of his eye, he shudders and jerks his head back hard enough that he cracks it against the bars.

"What do you want?" he asks desperately, blinking through the radiating pain and feeling his eyes water.

"I want to play with you," Molly replies, freeing up a hand and running her palm down his side. Spence is watching hungrily, licking his lips when Elijah trembles. "You're so scared, and so thoughtful. It's a shame you're a liar too." Her nails dig into his jaw until he gasps in pain. "I don't like being lied to, little mouse. It spoils the relationship. Doesn't it, Spence?"

"Yeah it does," her companion grunts.

"I told you, I'm not-"

Molly bites the side of his neck  _ hard, _ hard enough that he's certain she's broken skin, and he cries out, struggling to push her away. When hot breath gusts against the back of his head, a nose snuffling wetly at his hair, Elijah goes as still as a statue.

This time, there's nothing to muffle Kour's growl. He plasters himself against the bars, his broad chest pushing against Elijah's backpack. He's too terrified to look back, staring straight at Spence instead; he watches the color drain from the man's face and wonders if that's what he looked like the first time, too.

Molly lets go of his neck, but before she can say anything, Kour strikes. Dark claws dig into the side of her throat through her bandana, blood bubbling up and staining the cloth almost immediately. He uses his hold to drag her closer, saliva dripping from his bared fangs. His eyes are feverishly bright and feral, almost glowing in the dim light that fills the room. The woman gurgles, smacking her hands against the cage bars to try and resist. Her green eyes are wide, all trace of cruelty evaporated in the face of a bigger predator.

Like a wolf going in for the kill, Kour jerks her close enough that he can get his teeth in the front of her throat, ripping out her jugular with a wet, tearing sound that makes Elijah feel immediately ill. Blood sprays across his face, his throat, his shoulder; drenching his shirt and pants in streaks with every dying pulse of her heart. Kour doesn't stop there though; he digs his claws in deeper and bites again, crushing her trachea and esophagus. Blood drips from his eyelashes and mats his hair down. Elijah can hear a rattling wheeze, and then nothing but his frantic breathing and Spence's raspy gasps.

"What the fuck is that thing?!"

Kour chews the flesh in his mouth, wrenching his head to rip away a chunk of bloody muscle and tendons. He swallows it and purrs, there's no other word to describe the sound that comes from deep in his chest. Apparently satisfied, he drops Molly's body and catches Spence by the arm before he can stumble back out of range. The man tries, struggling with all his strength despite how deep Kour's claws dig in with every yank.

Elijah barely manages to stumble out of the way, falling over the corpse beside him and going down hard. He watches, horrified, as Kour gets his other hand around Spence's neck and lifts him off the ground like he weighs nothing. The man is trying to speak, maybe beg, but all he can do is gurgle like his friend until Kour's sharp, violent claws tear through his flimsy shirt and into his chest.

He screams then, the dying scream of a prey animal that knows its life is over. Blood pours from the wounds, splattering wetly across the floor.

Elijah hears the sickening crack of bone and passes out.

\---

Something warm and rough rasps across his wrist. It reminds him of his grandfather's cat's tongue, but this is bigger, broader, and definitely rougher. It feels like sandpaper dragging across his tender skin; he twitches and moans in protest, trying to run his wrist free. Something else pins his forearm, sharp points digging into his skin in clear warning. He wrinkles his nose, taking a breath; the stench of fresh blood and piss jars him, and his eyes snap open.

He's laying on his side, his front pressed against the bars of Kour's cage. Kour is stretched out less than a foot from his face, those feral, inhuman eyes staring at him while the creature licks the blood off of his arm. Kour's face is covered in tacky, drying blood; it's painted up his arms to his shoulders and streaked across his chest and stomach. His hair is completely matted down by it.

"Oh my God," Elijah wheezes, covering his mouth with his free hand -- only to realize it's covered in blood. He cries out, a cracked, terrified sound that hurts his throat when he looks down and sees that he's been lying in a pool of blood. He turns his head and sees what's left of Molly's body; just behind her is what used to be Spence, his chest and abdomen completely open and exposed to the air. Elijah can see the jagged arch of bloody, broken ribs sticking through pale flesh.

"Oh my God," he moans, and then Kour reaches through the bars and grabs his chin. It's a firm grip, but not crushing, the creature's long fingers warm against his jawline. Claws tuck behind his ear, resting against the tender skin without digging in. Elijah is surprised at how hot Kour feels even through that small bit of contact; he radiates heat like a furnace.

"Wha-" He gasps when he's pulled --  _ dragged _ \-- closer, his mouth open and his eyes so wide they hurt. Kour's nose brushes against his cheek, just under his eye, and then his tongue curls out and drags across the side of Elijah's face.

_ He's grooming me, _ he realizes, his stomach lurching between disbelief and revulsion. Hot on the heels of that though, and tinged with hysteria, he thinks,  _ Skale was right about the feeding. _

"K-Kour," he whispers, and the monster noses at the corner of his mouth, still watching him with those intense eyes. He licks the blood from Elijah's lips and chin with broad, wet strokes; his tongue is as rough as a cat's, leaving Elijah's skin pink and stinging. He flinches when the creature finds the spot Molly grabbed him, his rumble dark and displeased when he sees the bruises that are no doubt already forming. He nips at the spot, pressing his claws into the space behind Elijah's ear in silent warning when he tries to flinch away.

"Why?" Elijah asks weakly, his eyes darting back toward the fresh corpses before he surrenders and closes them, staying still and submissive while Kour licks him clean. He lets his head be moved back and forth; does nothing but take a sharp breath when Kour pushes his chin up and back, baring his throat. He waits, barely breathing, but the death he anticipates never comes. Instead, Kour continues to bathe him, as if Elijah is a helpless kit that's tumbled through a puddle of muddy water.

It feels like hours have passed, but it can't have been that long at all. There's still sunlight filtering in through the barred windows, highlighting the fresh hell he's found himself in yet again. Kour lets him go after one final lick across his adam's apple, and Elijah knows that he should take the chance and run, but he doesn't move. He feels numb, and hollow, watching as Kour prowls on his hands and feet over to where his newest source of foot is sprawled within easy reach. His face and throat sting, feeling sensitive and hot when he touches his fingertips to his cheek.

Kour grabs a leg and hauls Spence's body closer, jostling it against the old corpse, and Elijah twitches when he hears the very distinct sound of keys hitting the ground. The creature doesn't seem to care, too focused on ripping the jeans covering the dead man's legs to get to the flesh and muscle they're hiding. Unwilling to watch Kour eat this particular meal, no matter how he came to acquire it, Elijah shuffles over to the other body on his knees, catching sight of the keys between the withered, skeletal hand and the man's hip. He must have been holding them when he died -- or maybe they were in his pocket?

With a trembling hand, he picks up the keys, forcing himself to stand up and move as far away from the cage as he can. He can't block out the sound of Kour eating, but he can focus on the keys. They're clearly keys to the building; they're on a large ring, and lack any personal touches to suggest they went to a home or a car. There's close to a dozen, and as he flicks through them, he realizes that some are labeled. Some of the labels don't make any sense to him, and some are just numbered, but he finds one that says  _ MdRm _ and pauses, looking at the door that leads to the medicine.

It takes a moment, and a few breaths to calm himself, but he finds himself in front of the door, his hand shaking so badly he drops the ring twice. He toes out of a sneaker, wedging it between the door and the doorjamb just in case he's wrong, and reaches into the room to lock the door. Behind him, Kour is quiet again, and Elijah can feel the monster's stare burning into his shoulders.

Finding the key he needs, he carefully fits it into the lock, letting out a shaky breath when it goes in easily. He bites the inside of his lip, turns it, and grins widely when he hears the telltale  _ click _ of the tumblers rolling back.

"I wonder…" He leaves the door unlocked, wiggles his foot back into his shoe, and finds the key marked  _ 1. _ It doesn't look anything like the med room key; it's longer, and rounded instead of flat, with a broader fob. It reminds him of a skeleton tooth, almost, and he quickly shakes the thought away before his traumatized mind twists that it ways he's unwilling to deal with.

The first holding room door he finds doesn't work with that key, but it does lock and unlock with the third one. Elijah works his way through them all, trying the other numbers when the first key fails, until he figures out which key opens which doors. The numbering is random, which he wasn't expecting. How did they keep track of it? Why not have the rooms in numerical order? Did the creatures they kept locked inside have anything to do with how randomized it was?

Frowning down at the only key left, Elijah holds it up to get a better look at it, trying to figure out what door it could possibly go to. Across the room, watching him as he licks the blood from his hands and wrists, Kour rumbles quietly.

_ Oh. _

"Oh," Elijah says numbly, looking from the key to Kour's cage. The door is a solid, heavy-looking slab on the side closest to the computers -- the opposite wall is where they put Kour's bathroom bucket.

Putting the keys in his pocket, he approaches the cage, picking up a bottle of water and stepping right up to the bars. Slowly, as if he's trying to calm a cornered animal, Elijah reaches into the cage and offers the bottle.

For a moment, Kour doesn't react, and Elijah wonders if he's misjudged horribly. If he has, he's going to die -- there's no way he can get far enough away in time. If he hasn't, then Skale was right, and feeding Kour may have saved both their lives.

Kour bites the bone of his wrist, and Elijah panics, but the creature doesn't sink his teeth in. He holds it in his mouth, flexing his jaw; his tongue curls against Elijah's wrist and he shudders at the feeling, but he doesn't move otherwise.

The beast mouths at him gently, almost curiously, before finally letting go. He takes the bottle and retreats into the darker shadows at the back of his prison. Elijah sways, lightheaded and giddy. He laughs, a hysterical little chuckle, and looks down at the body beside him -- and gets his first real look at the name on his coat.

_ Anthony Skale _

"Ah," he whispers. "That… makes sense, then. Uh. Okay then."

Turning, he stumbles toward the case of water, grabbing a Gatorade and pressing his mouth against the cap for a moment without opening it. He breathes, trying to pull the tattered shreds of his psyche back together; closes his eyes and pretends he's somewhere --  _ anywhere _ \-- else.

_ He's a murderer. _

He is, but he also doesn't remember anything about being that man. That man doesn't even exist anymore. Kour Lucifé died the second they put that needle in him. The beast Skale and his associates created cannot technically be blamed for what it's done. The entire remaining population knows what happens when someone gets infected. Elijah knows  _ why, _ thanks to Skale's notes.

_ Look what he did to them. _

Did he do it because they were a threat to his existence, or because they threatened Elijah? Can he be blamed for doing what any cornered, territorial animal would do? What would they have done if they'd killed Elijah and he'd lunged? There's nowhere he could have gone, or hidden. It would have been like shooting a fish in a barrel.

_ Just because he hasn't killed you yet doesn't mean he won't. _

Is that a risk he's truly willing to take? Elijah has barely survived this long as it is; cowardice and luck has kept him alive until now, but it won't always be that way. Sooner or later, everyone will become infected. Would he rather risk the slow, agonizing descent into madness until he's a murder himself, or a quick, if brutal, death?

"God damn it," he hisses, rubbing his face against the bottle cap and whining. There's no scenario that has a beautiful, flowery outlook. There's no happy ending in any of them, just a few options that  _ might _ let him live a little longer before his inevitable death.

Can he really, truly live with himself if he walks out that door knowing that Kour will slowly starve to death, completely alone and trapped? He would have done it, when panic ruled his actions, but how far would he have gotten before the guilt kicked in?

_ Nothing deserves to die alone in a cage. _

Cracking the seal of his bottle, Elijah drinks, letting the flavor of the Gatorade wash the taste of blood and bitterness from his mouth. He chugs the entire bottle, chucking it at the wall once it's empty and rubbing his face roughly with both hands.

"Kour?" Turning toward the cage, he waits until those glowing eyes blink open, glittering in the murky shadows. When Elijah approaches, the creature stands to meet him, his hands relaxed at his sides and his head tilted. If he had any emotions other than feral rage, Elijah would say he looks  _ curious. _

"Do you want to kill me?" He reaches through the bars and, after a moment of hesitation, touches Kour's chest, pressing his palm flat between the creature's pectorals and startling at how  _ hot _ his skin is. It feels like he's burning up with fever, but that isn't true. His breath doesn't even rasp or rattle anymore, and his skin looks much healthier than it did when Elijah found him. He's still distressingly thin, but with access to a steady supply of food, that will change.

Kour looks down at his hand, and then meets his eyes again, chuffing quietly. His rumble vibrates through Elijah's hand and he gasps, jerking away. The creature grabs his wrist and pulls him back; ducks his head and presses his face against the bars to snuffle at Elijah's neck. After a moment, he swallows thickly and tilts his head back, offering his throat. Kour's growl is pleased, almost sounding like a purr. He breathes in Elijah's scent, licks over his chin and mouth, and lets go before stepping back and watching him with those dark, unreadable eyes.

"Right," Elijah breathes, nodding to himself. "Right. Alright. What's the worst thing that can happen? Aside from, y'know, dying and all that. Jesus, what the fuck am I doing?"

He's already reaching into his pocket, clutching at the ring of keys. "Right," he says again, pulling them out and holding the ring up for Kour to see.

"So, uh, Kour." Swallowing, he takes a deep breath and tries to smile through the anxiety battering at his inside with the force of a tsunami.

"So, Kour," he tries again, ignoring the way the keys jingle faintly as his hand shakes.

"How would you like to be free?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, a short little epilogue to end this crazy story!
> 
> Don't worry, I'm not done with these boys yet. There will be more installments in this 'verse, so stay tuned!
> 
> THANK YOU ALL, AND HAVE A BEAUTIFUL NIGHT/DAY/ETC.

It takes three days for Kour to come back. Elijah keeps walking, heading farther from D.C. and back toward Virginia; maybe he'll swing through Georgia and head west this time. There's plenty of open land out toward Oklahoma and Colorado, which means there will probably be less people.

Three days. He tries not to feel too anxious, or think the worst. If he'd been locked up for as long as Kour had been, he'd probably take off at the first hint of freedom too. As soon as Elijah had opened the doors and the creature had seen the grass, he'd bolted. All Elijah could do was stare as he'd scaled the fence and disappeared amongst the trees.

To be fair, he'd waited until well after dark, unsure of what else to do. Was Kour just stretching his legs? Was he hunting? Did he expect Elijah to wait until he came back?

He didn't come back though, so eventually, Elijah started walking.

_ Maybe it's for the best? _ he muses, fiddling with the straps of his backpack as he walks. He's been kicking a rock for several hundred feet, listening to the way it clatters across the asphalt. It's stupid to willingly make so much noise, just in case any infected are roaming nearby, but he can't bring himself to stop.

_ I gave him his freedom. That was probably all he wanted. _ He shouldn't be sulking about this, and in a way, he's grateful that Kour took off as soon as he had the chance. What was Elijah supposed to do with him if he'd hung around? What would he have done if they stumbled across other survivors?

_ It's for the best, _ he tells himself stubbornly, kicking the rock a little harder than necessary and wincing when it clangs against the bumper of a car. He's not out on the highway; it's getting too late to be that exposed. Instead, he's found a nice little town just off of Interstate 15, everything too silent and still, but definitely full of little nooks for someone his size to hide away in.

Cutting down a narrow side street, he passes by the quaint little houses, wondering what kind of horrors are hidden behind the pretty exteriors. He sees hints here and there -- broken windows, dark smears and splashes that he highly doubts are mud. One house has its front door hanging crooked, busted inward like something big had thrown itself against the wood until it gave. Elijah carefully skirts around that house, picking one a few doors down that looks promising.

Rather than picking the lock to get inside, he sneaks down the lane between the houses to get to the back yard, unlatching the gate to get in and grinning when he sees the pool and a small shed. He carefully shuts the gate behind him, following the solid wood fence until he gets to the little shed.

It's cluttered with various pool-related toys and cleaning supplies, but there's enough space for him to roll out his sleeping bag. He leaves the door open for the moment, watching the sun set slowly behind the rooftops while he opens a can of sweet corn and eats it with his fingers. He can hear the faint sounds of a fight several streets over -- two infected fighting over food, or territory, maybe. Kour is certainly a territorial creature, or at least he  _ was. _ Maybe he'll find his own territory to hunt and roam; some of the infected were reported to have done that. Others wandered with no destination in mind, killing anything that moved in their line of sight.

Will Kour be like that? Will he kill anyone he sees, or will he only attack if they threaten him? How many lives has Elijah just jeopardized by setting the creature free?

Sighing, he swings the shed door shut, chucking the empty can into a dark corner and zipping up his bag. He pauses when he sees a can of green beans, biting his lip.

"I must be out of my damn mind," he mutters, but he opens it regardless, setting it just outside the door before swinging it shut again. If nothing else, maybe a stray dog or a raccoon will eat it.

Crawling into his sleeping bag, he turns his back to the door and shuts his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slow and steady until sleep takes him.

When he wakes up, he's not sure why at first. He's tired and disoriented, blinking owlishly at the back wall of the shed until he hears it again -- the scrape of metal over brick. Elijah holds his breath, just in case it's something less than friendly, and listens to the sound of whatever it is eating his offering.

It doesn't leave when it's done; he can hear it snuffling at the crack of the door. Slowly, he turns around, his shuffling far from quiet, and when it growls, he breathes out and slowly pushes the door open.

"Kour," he whispers, gasping when the creature leaps through the doorway and pins him. For a second, Elijah is certain he's just let in a random infected and signed his own death certificate, but then the monster licks across his cheek and buries its nose in his hair. Thick, sharp claws scratch against his throat but never puncture, and he knows that the danger is passed -- as much as it can be, with a creature like Kour perched over him.

The beast growls, nipping at the shell of his ear, and Elijah flinches. "I didn't think you were coming back," he murmurs. Kour's breath smells like blood and green beans. His skin is tacky with it, dried patches flaking off beneath his fingertips when Elijah checks his arms and chest for any injuries. He doesn't find anything but a few scratches, sighing in relief.

"I waited for hours, and you never came back. I'm pretty sure this makes me crazy, but… I missed you."

Kour rumbles, his sharp teeth closing around the side of Elijah's throat; he tilts his head back as far as he can, submitting, and the creature purrs.

"Gonna stay? You can if you want to, or you can go. You're free now. You can do whatever you want, y'know?"

Apparently satisfied, Kour sits up. The shed is pitch black, but Elijah swears he can see those feral, sharp eyes watching him. He wiggles, making room for Kour to lay down beside him in what little cramped space is left.

"Please don't kill good people," he implores through a yawn. "I'd like to say 'don't kill anyone', but I know how to pick my battles."

Kour chuffs, biting at his shirt before he curls up, and Elijah decides to be positive and take that as acquiescence.

_ Picking my battles, _ he reminds himself tiredly, the need to sleep creeping quickly back across his mind. He touches Kour's back in the dark, feeling the raised line of scars beneath his fingertips and sighing. "Sleep well, buddy. There's more green beans for you if you stick around in the morning."

Kour growls, shifting away but not leaving entirely, and the last thought Elijah has is,  _ he's just like a cat. _

He falls asleep smiling with his hands tucked between their bodies, his fingertips just barely touching the monster's back.

\---

In the morning, Kour is gone again, but there's a fresh deer carcass ten feet from the shed door, laid out like an offering.

"Guess that's my answer," Elijah sighs, smiling and turning to grab his backpack to find his hunting knives. He looks up at the bright blue sky, watching a few clouds drift by.

"I think I've lost my mind, Grampa," he says, shaking his head and laughing at the insanity of it all.

"But," he adds after a moment, eyeing the deer with a thoughtful frown, "I… hope he comes back. The wild ones usually do, if you feed them enough."

With nothing else to do, he starts gathering wood to build a fire, intent on smoking and drying as much of the meat as he can. He hears something big move along the outside of the fence and smiles, humming a quiet melody until the creature is gone.

Kour does come back, hours later and covered in more blood. Elijah tuts and pushes him toward the pool, scowling until the beast bares his fangs. Throwing his hands up, he sighs in frustration.

"I'm bathing you after we eat," he warns, catching the way the creature's eyes flash. "I mean it, Kour, or no green beans."

In the end, Elijah has to bathe himself as well, but it's worth it to scrub Kour clean, even if his monster growls and shows his fangs the entire time.

He doesn't bite though, and that's what matters.


End file.
